


Prom Night

by ghidrah



Category: Fallout 4
Genre: Cheesy, F/M, Fluff, Fluff and Smut, Romance, Smut, Vaginal Fingering
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-30
Updated: 2018-05-30
Packaged: 2019-05-16 01:51:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,810
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14802083
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ghidrah/pseuds/ghidrah
Summary: Though Deacon isn't one for being cheesy let alone admitting his feelings for Fixer, he would do just about anything to make her happy, even if it meant risking revealing an almost year-long infatuation. Little does he know, she feels the same way.





	Prom Night

5/1/2019 NOTE: Hello! I want to note what happens here isn't canon to my current Rina-canon my tailoring of the FO4 canon in conjunction with Rina-canon. Sorry that sentence may not have made any sense! 

xxx

The Railroad for the past few months had been running dangerously low on supplies due to a sudden spike in synth rescue and relocation missions, thereby warranting the need to arrange incoming provisions. These missions tirelessly called upon tourists to receive goods from all over the Commonwealth, one drop-off and pick-up after another. Newer members feared this was foreshadowing the Railroad’s demise, while older members simply passed it off as a drought and ensured there was nothing to fear, though they, too, had their lingering paranoias.

When Desdemona requested Deacon to put his Commonwealth adventures on a brief hold with Fixer, he was curious as to why she wanted them for something basic in what he described as “grocery shopping” from vendors, though the practice ranged from trading rare supplies in secret to simply picking up a previously arranged stash. What Desdemona had in store, however, ended up being something a degree more important – and cool – than he originally presumed. Instead of retrieving basic items needed for the Railroad’s inventory, Desdemona informed them of a medicinal recipe Dr. Carrington learned of through a friend of a friend, friends referring to undisclosed informants. The lack of details concerning the mission signified its importance, especially if Desdemona wanted Fixer and him of all people to help. A two-person mission, a dynamic duo assignment. Even though he already constantly traveled together with Fixer, having “official” missions helping others in secrecy granted him the joyful excuse of, one, helping people, and, two, engaging in intimate, quiet moments with his companion. He hoped she didn’t catch wind of the feelings he kept hidden. He was a pro at this sort of thing, so surely, she had no idea.

Right?

“It’s simple enough, just don’t mess up,” Desdemona reiterated before sending them away. “And Deacon?” She commented to him, secretly, “No funny business.”

As the Railroad door came to a loud shut with Deacon feeling a smidgen more paranoid than his usual lax mindset, the duo left and arrived at their current investigation of D.B. Technical High School.

A couple months earlier upon request of the Minutemen, Fixer and Deacon had cleared the area of raiders after rescuing a couple settlers held as hostages. Rescued safe and sound with the building secured, it made today’s mission less daunting than usual. They both knew caution still was mandatory, but Deacon was secretly relieved because the previous clearing would alleviate some weight from Fixer’s plate. They knew the building’s floorplan at least, so that was one huge advantage compared to last time. Fixer worked nearly nonstop within the Commonwealth for at least a year, probably sometime longer depending how long she meandered before running into the Railroad; Deacon worried about her burning out over the constant requests and help they gave out. It wasn’t just fulfilling missions he concerned himself over, but more so the emotional toil of experiencing, well, everything she’d gone through in little under a year.

Him, though? He didn’t mind, and admittedly did more background work unlike front line activity in combat and with people. Sure, she told him keeping busy helped ease her mind, but he was intent on at some point insisting she took some time off to relax, even if it was for only a couple days. Lately, there had been a slight anxious edge to her he couldn’t quite place his finger on. Some relaxation was necessary.

After their little mission, at least.

The two entered the school about an hour ago, scoping out the creaking building once brimming with turrets and raiders. There were only a few signs of activity that included a couple stray radroaches, rats, and swaying debris temporarily ushered by the front door’s wind. Otherwise, after quickly investigating the place for enemies including the dreaded tunnel entrance down below, nothing had changed about the decaying school remains littered with blood and bodies. The two then equipped every entrance with traps out of precaution including the tunnel leading deep out the area, thankfully a place the informant would not have left the recipe. The package was somewhere in the main school building.

Whoever had left the medicinal recipe must’ve studied every nuance of the school because the two meanderers couldn’t find signs of any noticeable stashes. No pointers, no marks, no nothing. This person might be new to the Railroad, Deacon thought as they scavenged nearly every room in sight, or they were extremely set on hiding this extra important delivery incapable of being found by anyone. He worried every extra minute they had to spend in the school not because he was getting impatient, but knowing the connotations school buildings had for Fixer.

“Anything?”

“Nope,” Fixer sighed while going through a lab table. “You’d think it would be in here, a place that focused on chemistry.”

“I guess it would be too obvious, but it’s unusual we’ve been searching for an entire hour. I wonder who Dez had hide something here, not even asking them to meet with us. Might be what you guys called back then an ‘intern’.”

“We have a couple rooms left to check, so it’s probably in one of those two.” Fixer clapped her hands together several times to chase the dust away. “If it weren’t for how messy it was in here, maybe we would’ve found it by now.”

“Got that right. You excited to start up that maid service with me?” Deacon grinned from ear to ear and nudged her a couple times. “Hmm, hmm?”

Fixer laughed in return, shaking her head, “No thanks. If I’m cleaning anything up it’s the Sanctuary. There’s always more work available at any of the Minutemen settlements. They all always could use some help.”

“Man, you don’t ever want to like, take a break? And you’re hearing that from me.” The two entered a locker room through a gigantic hole and began searching again. “You seem a little off lately. I think you need a vacation.”

He couldn’t tell, but on the other side of the room Fixer could feel perspiration building at her hairline, feeling her cheeks slightly heat up. “Is that so?”

“You know it.”

She nervously tittered back, “I’ll consider it.” Her refusal to take a break was primarily to keep her mind off things, but it was becoming harder to do so when that main thing just so happened to accompany her to ninety-nine percent of activities; that thing happened to be-

“H-e-e-e-y, it’s me, Deacon the football star!” Deacon boomed. Fixer whipped her head back to look, almost snapping her neck in the process from surprise. Deacon had slipped on a green varsity jacket over his white shirt, striking various poses with a slim book in hand. “Sign my yearbook, babe.” He stopped while flexing an arm. “Hey now, what’s with that look? Do I have something on my face?”

“No, that’s not it.” Fixer groaned and continued looking through the lockers. What horrific, feeling-reinforcing timing.

“Aw c’mon Fix,” he swooped next to her, dropping the book in the process and slung an arm around her shoulders. His breath was warm and, to Fixer, a comforting smell she became accustomed to over time. She’d gotten to know it from the countless close quarters they shared in battle and the inevitable cramped sleeping places when traveling the Commonwealth. “You doing okay? I know schools can be shitty for you. I tried to get Desdemona to have the goods dropped off at a different location, but you know how it is.”

“Thanks Deacon, though that’s not it.” She smiled and her breath stuttered as she exhaled slowly, “But really, I’m okay. It is a little weird being in schools now. I’m not as… jarred, I guess, as I used to be, but it’s still an experience walking through.”

“Schools, Fixer’s one weakness. I can’t imagine what these halls were like way long ago.”

“They were great. Besides my regular job as a lawyer, you know I coached swimming teams and lessons. I looked forward to every day I got to visit schools and swimming centers to help out.”

Deacon rubbed her shoulder. Trying to console someone who literally lost everything in a snap was something he wasn’t all too confident in practicing. Although he knew the two of them were open enough with each other to point that just the presence of the other helped, he wondered if there was a more fruitful way in providing emotional support. Keeping things lighthearted when called for seemed to yield the best result - her smile – so he stuck to it. “I still can’t believe you guys could swim in water without worrying about radiation. That’s like, wild! You guys were the mirelurks of your time.”

“You calling us pre-war folk crabby?” She smirked, playfully shoving chest.

“That was pretty bad.”

“Like you don’t make horrible jokes all the time.” She bashfully shook her head. “Some of the kids I coached though, they were practically sea critters. Ambitious, starry-eyed sea critters.”

“A mirelurk army in the training.”

“Wonderful mirelurks.” Her cheeks relaxed, eyes gaining a degree of solemnity capable of knifing Deacon’s heart for days. “They were inspirational. Even after graduation, some of them would come visit and checkout how the team was doing. It was a constantly growing family.”

“Sounded wonderful.”

“It was.” She paused. “I miss them.”

Silence came over the room. Deacon continued to rub her arm slowly, trying to comprehend the flashing realization of loss Fixer experienced when crawling out the vault. Watching her become more at ease as the two traveled together warmed his heart, though it still pained him there were horrible, indelible pains that would still haunt her at night, ones he understood to some degree. Schools used to hurt her, but their troublesome nature evolved into that simultaneously sad and joyous nostalgia. The same sensation happened to him when traveling farmland, it just served to remind him of distant, fond memories. “I’m glad you seem to be doing better than you were a long while back. Remember when roaches grossed you out? Now you’re the roach queen!”

“Roach queen? No thanks,” Fixer smiled and placed her hand over his. “Well, sentiments are done and over with. Let’s find that recipe.” She stepped back out of Deacon’s touch to hop a few times energetically, pretending to punch the air. “C’mon, let’s go, we got this!”

“Somehow Fixer, you’re the most compassionate and kickass person I know. A terror on the battlefield, but the most genuine human alive. I’m glad I’m still traveling the Commonwealth with you.”

“What happened to hating being mushy?”

“Well, seemed to fit the moment. I officially declare the Deacon-and-Fixer-Mushy-Gushy-Hour to end. Shall we continue our search?”

“Definitely.” Fixer nodded her head towards the gape in the wall. “That package has got to be in the last room.”

Deacon’s heart brimmed with joy. She may have been hurting like him at times but holy hell, did she make him happy.

He loved her.

His heart fluttered, halting before exiting the locker room.

He earnestly did.

He loved her so much and wanted to tell her, but instead they continued their search sharing both fun and nostalgic moments down the hallway, conversation entirely void of any romantic talk. How could he risk ruining this?

He couldn’t, not one bit.

xxx

“Thank fucking god we found it,” Fixer groaned as she showed Deacon a thick envelope discretely hidden underneath a loose tile, one that Deacon happened to trip over.

“You think they’d hide it in the front in an inconspicuous plant holder that has a sign saying, ‘No package here!’, or something. But no, they hid it way back here. Under a tile. In a dark room. All it took was for me to fall on it!”

“Another mission well done, Agent Tripper.”

“That makes it sound like I’m a total bro for mentats, so let’s stick to Deacon.” Deacon examined Fixer’s Pip-Boy with her after she tucked the envelope safely into an interior pocket of her green flannel. “Wow. It’s much later than I thought.”

“Yeah, maybe we should campout here for the night. Last thing I want is to run into super mutants after midnight again. I heard some faint beeps from their mini wrist-nukes on the way here, so I’d prefer if we played it safe. Sorry, I know you love traveling under the moon and all.”

“It’s all good, safe is sexy.”

“Petition that to be the Railroad’s new catchphrase.”

“Already did, and already rejected. Maybe if we say it enough, it’ll catch on.”

Fixer looked displeasingly around the cafeteria area. “Not sleeping in here though. Way too big. Not sexy at all.”

“Yeah! It’s catching on! Hmm. There was a room with a sleeping bag and mattress by the lockers we looked around in earlier. How about there?”

“Sounds good.”

“Sexy?”

“Sexy.”

The two returned upstairs after rechecking the status of booby traps prepared for enemy stragglers. The last thing they wanted were raiders happening upon them while sleeping.

Once finding the room Deacon mentioned with the sleeping arrangements, they blocked major entryways to their temporary camp area with various furniture items strewn about. It took quite a bit of stranded furniture, but they managed to safely secure the room. Deacon put his fists on his hips, pleased with the result. “Never thought I’d be thankful for moving large, annoying furniture before. Guess rearranging the Railroad’s furniture quickly once paid off.”

“You what now?” Fixer set down their weapons in a corner nearby, keeping the stash within reach of the sleeping area.

“One time while Dez was out and Drummer Boy was having a meeting to show off some wild tin can racecar he built in one of the side rooms, I swapped around all the desks and crap to give the room a total makeover. It wasn’t that different, but the differences were subtle enough to freak people out. Like Drummer Boy flipped when he couldn’t find his favorite pen, you should’ve seen the look on his face. Oh! Or when Dr. Carrington had to walk across the room to reach his lab station? Priceless.”

“Carrington, that’s good. But you gave Drummer boy a scare? The poor guy.” Fixer tried to stifle laughter from picturing what the sap’s reaction was like. “Not funny.”

“Hey now, I see those laugh lines coming out.”

“Changing the subject,” Fixer scanned the area. “Everything looks set. Ready the sleeping stations.”

“Yes ma’m!” Deacon dramatically stiffened his body and saluted. He walked over to the sleeping bag stacked atop a mattress and removed it, frowning at his sudden discovery. “Um, boss?”

“What is it Deacon?”

“We have a slight issue with one of the beds.”

“Oh god, again?” Fixer groaned and stepped over to Deacon, gagging at the sight.

“Yeah, we probably shouldn’t sleep on the mattress, unless you like the presence of being covered in literal month-old mystery doodoo.”

Underneath the sleeping bag was a splattered – and foul smelling – slather of brown feces. The duo pinched their noses and took some time to throw the mattress outside of their barricaded room calling for another couple rounds of furniture rearrangements.

“Guess we’ll be sharing a sleeping bag, again.”

“Not used to sleeping in Deacon’s muscular arms?” Deacon pretended to flex after moving one final table. “Come on, it’s not that bad.”

“I’m unfortunately used to it by now,” Fixer teased. She unzipped the sleeping bag, now large enough for two people to lay on with maybe a few inches of space between them. She sat down and placed some extra clothes they found as pillows. “Hotel Fixer is at your service.”

“Yet another night with everyone’s favorite boss? It’s my lucky day.” He laid next to her, then propped his head up on one arm and looked up at her. “Since we got a minute before we snooze our cozy little heads away, mind if I ask you for some old world knowledge about schools?”

“You know I’m always down for our nightly talks.” Fixer beamed. “It’s comforting being able to talk about the past like this with someone. And not about if I knew war was coming back then, what crazy things were going on in the world, those are all fine, it’s just… just these sorts of, I don’t know, everyday things. Traditions. What was normal back then.”

“Honestly though, just let me know if, like, something I say or ask gets out of line, alright? I, well,” he looked away from her behind his sunglasses, “wouldn’t want to make you sad, or anything.”

“Trust me Deacon, you’re always good in my book. You know that.” She hugged her knees, resting her head on them to look down at him. “So what’s up?”

Nothing made his heart flutter like whenever she spoke his name, and the sparkle in her eyes didn’t help ground his gut at all. Continuing, he cleared his throat, “I was looking through some of those yearbooks that were laying around and there were these big dances. Proms, they were called? What were those about? Did literally everyone dress up in those fancy clothes? The old photos looked like the cheesiest thing I’ve ever seen, and I’ve seen a block of cheddar before.”

“Proms, huh?”

“You got that right boss.”

“Hm…” Fixer furrowed her eyebrows in thought. “Well, all schools were different, but generally most high schools had shared traits of what happened at proms. Like, they were usually held to celebrate the juniors and seniors ending school soon and to celebrate having a late-night out, I think.”

“Like teenagers totally didn’t sneak out past curfew anyway, huh?”

“Right?”

“Cool, cool. Why a dance, though?”

Fixer shrugged. “Not too sure. There’s probably some history behind it, but I never learned about those things. I just knew everyone would dress up nice and often have a date to attend the dance with. Oh, and usually the couples would have a matching color scheme, like matching dress colors, matching dress and tie colors, and whatnot.”

“A date, huh?” Deacon wiggled his eyebrows and leaned towards Fixer, smirking. “What hotties asked good ol ‘Fixer out?”

Fixer shook her head, smiling. “Never was too interested. My date was a friend and we only went because some of our other friends did, but it wasn’t romantic or anything.”

“Did you not dance then?”

“Nope. Not really my thing. We just lingered around the buffet the entire time.”

“Well, if you ever want to make up that dance,” he rested his chin in the palm of his hand rather than its top and grinned, “I’m always here.”

Fixer laughed - music to his ears. “Aren’t you the jokester tonight?”  

A smooth denial. Though that stung a little, he continued to smile, “The offer’s always open and I’m not going anywhere. Maybe just for fun at the next place we stay I’ll set up some fun little decorations and set the mood with some old tunes. You need some downtime, after all. I think you’ve been worked more this past year than I have since joining the Railroad and, believe me, I’ve done a lot. We could just sit around and eat Fancy Lads and chitchat like we usually do.”

“We’ve been through a lot together, haven’t we?” Fixer hugged her legs a littler tighter, folding them closer to her chest, smiling with her eyes groggily closing. “Wouldn’t that be something? A day off. Not really my sort of thing.”

“Would it be something you’d mind?”

“Not at all, but it seems like a lot of effort, at least the scenario you mentioned and there’s always things to do. You’re a funny one, Deacon.”

“Hey now, I’m the funniest, and you heard it here.”

That got one final round of chuckles out of her before the two continued with their conversation for maybe an hour more, recapping the week’s events, telling stories, and Fixer laughing at Deacon’s made up stories. At one point, Fixer laid down on her back and the two softly talked about what the future had in store for them. Maybe one day she’d wake up and have nothing to do, to which Deacon remarked out of all the possibilities, that was her dream? She just wanted something else consistent to wake up to, was all. The conversation died down, the two coincidentally looking at each other at the same time.

She was so close. Their lamp behind her flickered, giving Fixer the subtlest of glowing halos on her hair and skin.

He could stay like this forever.

She spoke up and broke Deacon out of his trance. “Let’s rest now. We’ve had a long day and have a cautious trek to make tomorrow.”

“Just what I was thinking.” Except, you know, not at all. “Night, Fixer.”

“Goodnight Deacon.”

She turned her back towards him. He freed his arm from holding his head, deciding to lay on his back tonight. He looked at Fixer from the sides of his eyes one last time, seeing her body slowly rise and fall with her breathing, also feeling the slightest warmth emanate from her being. Just once, he’d like to hold her in his arms.

Little did he know, that’s what she wanted, too.

The two lay close to each other, eyes closed, but awake and thinking what it would be like to hold one another in a warm embrace.

Fixer replayed Deacon’s last few comments in her head. Setting up a small room, just so she could relax? That suggestion seemed considerably more forward and detailed than what he usually joked around about. Overall, he seemed gentler than usual tonight. Usually he’d dare her to eat alive bugs or try to sell a shoelace for more than fifty caps. But that room suggestion complete with music? Too much. He must’ve really been pulling her leg.

He was so boyish, lighting up grim atmospheres with snide comments or ridiculous ponderings. His endearing babble prompted endless amounts of surprisingly natural conversations that lasted for miles, a chemistry she found unique only between them. Typically, she was reserved and didn't mind silences between those she trusted, but there was something about his boyish ramblings and questions she craved all day long. She never wanted their duo to stop, but it had to come to an end someday, right?

She didn’t want that day to come.

Fixer masked a sigh as a slow, sleepy breath. She wasn’t sure when these feelings for Deacon began getting out of hand, but she never wanted to stop travelling the Wasteland with him and learning about the land and each other through jokes and stories. The worst thing was she couldn’t stop thinking about slow dancing with him. Dim lighting, slow music, a gentle touch. Any excuse to hold each other in their arms.

At some point she fell asleep, not knowing they both shared the same thought:

Why did these feelings come at night?

xxx

Morning quietly crept upon the Commonwealth as Deacon and Fixer slept soundly within the confines of D.B. Technical High School. Little outdoor light could get inside prompting Fixer to check her Pip-Boy for the time. Roughly 9:00am. She nudged Deacon awake who begrudgingly groaned and asked for five more minutes. Instead, he earned wake-up shoves just barely short of punches. He gave in, did their daily routine of morning stretches with Fixer, and packed up before dismantling traps to meet her below for breakfast.

“What’s on the menu today, Chef Deacon?” Fixer sat on a pile of sturdy boxes at the cafeteria’s counter.

“Well you see, my fellow Wastelander, today we have,” he pulled out a tray with food on top from inside one of the cafeteria’s shelves, “some day-old vegetable soup we cooked before heading out and potato crisps!”

“Wow,” Fixer said in a dry voice, “what a surprise.”

“Ah yes and also, sarcasm, my old friend, seems to be joining us today.”

“Too bad there’s only enough for us two.”

Deacon began slurping his soup. Expecting it to be cold, Fixer’s eyes widened upon having a spoonful of warm liquid from her canister. “It’s warm?”

“I heated it on a little cooking station a room or two over. Thought it might make the day better.”

“It definitely has.” The two talked of the worst meals they had while finishing up breakfast.

“Aw man!” Deacon looked down at his shirt. “My favorite, irreplaceable, white t-shirt!”

Fixer looked down and noticed a giant green blob seeping into the shirt’s chest area. “I’ve never heard you complain about getting guts on your clothes before, but soup is the problematic one?”

“Blood and guts? Inevitable in our line of work, unfortunately. But a giant green blob? It screams that I did it, that it’s my fault. Can’t have people thinking I’m a messy eater.” He shuffled through a duffel bag they brought only to pull out a new, identical white shirt and green flannel.

Fixer stifled a laugh, then nervously focused at a random stack of books nearby as Deacon swapped shirts. Even though she’d seen Deacon shirtless before from an emergency bandaging situation where they ran out of stimpacks, in this moment she didn’t want to risk blushing or hinting any sort of suggestive interest in her partner. Mission partner, that is. She stole a quick glance, but the less she saw only increased her craving. His skin looked smooth, surprisingly glowing for their apocalyptic situation, and showed its history via select scars and wounds from over the years. _How long was he going to take?_ He was more on the slender side and, not knowing why it surprised her, was irresistibly toned. It was an unfortunately familiar passing thought for her to imagine her fingers tracing over those forearm muscles, sliding slowly onto his biceps, creep to the neck, and eventually down to and past his chest… she stopped herself before trying to peek again at his abdomen. Desire was finicky and only came once realizing how much his laugh made her heart speed. _No Fix, not allowed._

That didn’t save her from his prodding jokes, however.

“I saw you stealing some glances there ol’ pal. You missed your chance at seeing a rockin’ bod,” Deacon teased as he finished replacing his old shirt. Upon looking, Fixer couldn’t see a difference between the shirts minus the previous green blob. The only noticeable change was his sporting of a green flannel identical to hers.

“Wait, where’d you find that?”

“Oh, this beauty?” Deacon stretched out an arm, showing off the new, well, as new as new could be, flannel cuffed above his elbows. “Found it somewhere around here. It’s my size too! Isn’t that great?”

“Dude,” Fixer stood up and motioned to her body. “We match!”

“Yeah! Isn’t it great.”

“It’s just, why?”

“I thought it would be funny, plus we’re a team: team Death Bunnies! We gotta match.”

Fixer jokingly complained about stealing her fashion choice as the two exited the school. The coast was clear as they cautiously made headway back to Old North Church.

The way back fruited more stillness than usual. They fought a few super mutants and an occasional gang of raiders, but nothing compared to a typical day of roaming the city. Perhaps the warm soup was indeed a good omen.

Inside the church granted an immediate wave of relief for Fixer as they walked through quiet basement tunnels, at ease now that another mission was nearly complete.

“You think anyone will say anything about our new ‘uniform’?” Fixer asked.

“I have my hopes, but plenty of people tend to wear the same things around here.”

“That’s true. Since we travel all the time and I know you have different changes of clothes including that varsity jacket you found, it might stand out to some that we _do_ in fact match.”

“Sounds like you want to match, Fix.”

“I think it would be fun.”

“Amazing, I know.”

“Still, I can’t believe we’re matching…”

“What can I say, my old shirt got a soup stain. What did you want me to do, walk around with a big ol’ blob on my shirt?”

“Deacon, it was just a speck.”

“A bold speck of baby green vomit on a bright, white shirt. I just had to get a green flannel to complete the look.”

“You have a varsity jacket! That’s also green!”

“And yet here we are, making cute conversation over how we match, just like old prom dates.”

She gave that small smile Deacon loved so fucking much and he instinctively returned it. She replied with a loving glow, “It’s not so bad then.”

There was nothing she treasured more than these playful dialogues.

Eventually, they entered the Railroad HQ and delivered the package to Dr. Carrington. Delighted in his own sometimes off-putting way, he and Desdemona thanked them. He trailed off back to his desk and began madly thumbing through a pamphlet. Clear from the intense furrowing of his brow, he was intent on starting whatever work he had planned since they left. There was no explanation of what the delivery entailed, only the immediate action of putting it to the test, likely a recipe holding potentially amazing benefits. If they knew what it was, well, then if things didn’t work out people would be disappointed, Dr. Carrington’s least desirable reaction to his experimenting. He hated letting others down more than advertised.

Awhile later, Deacon re-entered the room and approached Desdemona. She took a puff from her cigarette. “So, Dez,” he started, “any other missions or we A-OK?”

“That’s all for now.” Desdemona carefully examined Deacon, then observed Fixer across the room chatting with various new tourists. “Mission went well, I assume?”

“Just dandy. The bee’s knees, not that I’ve personally ever met a bee with knees. They’re kinda small, so it’s hard to tell.”

“Uh huh.” She looked back at Deacon, who was looking at Fixer as well. “Don’t get close Deacon.”

Deacon hesitated before assuring her, “I know what I’m doing Dez.”

“I somewhat doubt that. And don’t think I didn’t see you sneak off for a few hours while you left Fixer to do some cleanup and paperwork. She asked me where you went. I only responded with ‘he will be back soon.’ A bit concerning. Where were you, exactly?”

“Intel, Dez. Duh.” What a blatant lie that was.

“Right. Aside from that, you haven’t exactly been here in a while. Really enjoying the Commonwealth lately, are you?”

“My job’s intel. You should be glad I’m out and about so much, especially with the coverage I’m getting these days.”

“You’re not usually absent from HQ this long though.” She squinted her eyes, as if she could see beyond Deacon’s sunglasses. She took a drag from her cigarette, embracing the tormenting silence. “You know the rules, Deacon.”

“Dez, believe me, nothing is going on.”

All that earned was a suspicious glare followed by a sudden chirp, “I digress though, good work.”

Fixer suddenly chimed in, spooking Deacon. “Thanks Desdemona.” She clasped a hand on Deacon’s shoulder, smiling. “We did good huh? Where’d you run off to?” Fixer beamed at Desdemona giving no time for Deacon to answer. “So, any missions or odd jobs you need done?”

“Nope, just informed Deacon of that. All that’s left are the usual jobs reserved for our typical tourists. We’ll keep you two free in case something meatier arises. Now, I’m sure you guys have things to do, or at least you do, Fixer. If he ever gets to be a nuisance, just tell him to be on his merry little way back to us.”

“You got it. Alright, let’s head out.” Fixer nodded her head towards the door and began saying her goodbyes to the other agents.

“And that’s my ride! I’ll see you around Dez.” Deacon signed off with finger guns to Desdemona as he made his way out with Fixer, feeling her unrelenting stare the entire walk out of the room. The last Deacon saw of her, Desdemona had rolled her eyes and took a long drag from her cigarette, judgement apparent even if they were miles apart. That woman had some sort telepathic powers.

“Another mission well done,” Fixer gleefully sighed as the two made their way back up to the church, stretching her arms high then releasing them to her sides. “So, give me the scoop. Did Desdemona send you out to do some errands earlier or give you a secret mission to give to me?”

“Nope, just some intel work that needed to be done.”

“Got it. Anything you need to do, then?”

 “Just the usual routine of following you around, making amazing jokes, and kicking ass together. Oh, and intel! Can’t forget that.”

“My sort of day.”

“Actually, almost forgot. Something did come up. It’ll take the whole day and some of tomorrow though.” Deacon stopped her right before the double doors leading out.

“Sure thing, what’s the case? Whenever we finish, we can head to Diamond City to get supplies for Sanctuary. We’re running low on cork.”

“I call it Operation: Vacation and it’s at Bunker Hill. It’s not anything too crazy, but again don’t let your guard down.”

“Any details?”

“It would be best to keep you out of those for this mission, as you’re familiar with. Now, shall we?” The two exited the church into Boston’s streets, wary of raiders skulking about during the evening. Fixer, though accustomed accepting missions without details, couldn’t help but feel something was a little fishy about where they were going. It was something about the way Deacon behaved lately in conjunction with how he’d been walking the smallest bit farther from her than usual. Maybe it had been her imagination, that she’d been overthinking things. After all, lately she just wanted him close. It was probably all in her head: her romantic, yearning head.

xxx

They arrived at Bunker Hill as the sun set. Caravans cycled in and out of the market, some preparing for embarkment to far corners of the Commonwealth while others returned, ready to take a break from their long voyages out.

“Alright Deacon, where to?”

“Down here.” Deacon moved aside a large wooden slab nearby the bar outside the market, revealing a staircase tunneling into the earth akin to various old storage areas littered about the city. Down the staircase was a thin hallway with a few closed doors marked with different symbols. One had a star, while the other had a triangle. Their destination was the last door in the hallway sporting a circle symbol scribbled on with old chalk.

“What’s the plan?” Fixer whispered, hunched over and grasping her deathclaw gauntlet in preparation.

“The plan?” Deacon looked at her while holding the doorknob, not yet opening. “The plan is… to relax!”

“What?”

Deacon opened the door, entering a small room bearing a mattress, table, other miscellaneous furniture, and a stash of food. What particularly caught Fixer’s eye was the room’s lighting once Deacon flicked on a lamp. The lamp’s shade was a translucent purple and, once on, gave the room a celestial, vague violet glow. Deacon plopped down on an old looking couch worn in from years of use and put his gear on a table nearby.

“What… where are we?”

“Well you see…” Deacon patted the cushion next to him. Fixer closed – and locked, wow! A lock! – the door and put her things down with his before sitting. “I took the privilege of reserving this cool as balls room so we don’t have to risk sleeping near a shit slathered mattress again.”

“I mean, this is pretty cool but,” she scanned the room as if trying to find something. “What about the mission?”

“My dear Fixer, I, Deacon, have lied to you!” He dramatically gasped and covered his mouth momentarily. “Operation: Vacation isn’t actually a mission, it’s literally a vacation! And by vacation, I mean we’re not going to engage in any work for the rest of today.”

Fixer stared blankly at him for a few seconds before gaining more confusion. “So, we’re just going to sit here?”

“Yep. Sit, talk, eat, listen to some sweet tunes I had Tinker Tom put on a holotape, it’ll be great. Listen, like,” he looked her in the eyes, though she couldn’t see anything past his glasses, “ever since you came out of that vault? You’ve been working nonstop. As much as I endorse getting stuff done, the shit you’ve had to do and deal with daily is like, draining to the max. Hunting coursers, risking your life every day, leading a strike on The Institute of all places? Wacky, nutty, extremely tiring. You need a break. Sometimes you’re still peppy, but there’s definitely something that’s been weighing you down.”

“I…” Fixer exhaled slowly, realizing what he said had been very true, just slightly not in the way he probably expected. She couldn’t recall any days where she truly just relaxed besides those nightly moments they shared. How could anyone bear to relax these days? The closest thing was helping Sturges with construction at the Sanctuary, but even those days could be overwhelming with the amount of materials she lugged under the scorching sun. If she wasn’t physically drained, it was emotionally. While looking at Deacon though, she remembered how thankful she was to have his ridiculous personality around. Someone easy to talk to and could make her laugh? He made things hell of a lot easier. “I guess Operation: Vacation is on then!”

“Yes!” Deacon punched the air. “Commence relaxing. I brought some Fancy Lads, as I mentioned the other day. Oh, and don’t tell Dez, she’s onto me. If she found out I spent the evening eating sugary goods with my best pal, I don’t know what punishment would happen.” He hastily opened a box and chewed a cake piece too big for his mouth, half of it sticking out. “Mmm, mmm! So good!”

Fixer pulled out the half protruding from his mouth and chewed it, now used to the stale food of the Commonwealth after all these years. The two continued their small junk food festivity, Deacon showing off several other miniature snacks they found from the school. Salty snacks, sweet snacks, and a Nuka-Cola for each of them. And the best part? There wasn’t a thing to worry about, probably.

“By the way,” Fixer wiped some crumbs off her face, “we’re safe here, right? How’d you find this place? I didn’t know Bunker Hill had these rooms.”

“A charismatic guy like me knows all the hot and poppin’ joints of the Commonwealth. I was asking Tony about this place ‘cause I heard him mention before they had private rooms, top-secret rooms. I asked him if we could rent one out as payment for helping him awhile back. I know I say keep your guard up always, but you can do it an eency weency bit less for now. Consider it a freebie, from yours truly.”

“Alright then, oh-wise-and-knowing Deacon.” She put down a canister of crisps. “Was this lighting your idea too?”

“Yep, happened to be lucky and find some neato plastic to use as a lampshade. I’m a genius. Also, there’s one thing I’d like to offer you.” He stood up and gently extended her his arm.

She took it without asking, his fingers delicately wrapping around her palm; his hand was a bit larger than hers, calloused, and fit snugly around hers. Her heart skipped a beat as he led her to the more-spacious middle of the room, though still a tad cramped.

“Would you mind putting this in your Pip-Boy?” Deacon took out a holotape and placed it in her hand. “It’s, uh, well you’ll hear it.”

Obliging, she stepped back to the Pip-Boy laying with their inventory pile. She inserted the holotape to play. Once she made it back to Deacon, she immediately recognized the tune playing from when the classical radio aired.

“Is this Salut d’Amour?”

“Got that right, I, god,” he cleared his throat, “I’m _very_ embarrassed right now.”

Fixer attempted to stifle a few giggles but couldn’t hold back a short barrage of hearty laughs from his sudden confession. “Oh my god, really?”

“Hey! You know I’m not the cheesy type but like, I just wanted to do something special for you. But, you know, I’m suddenly regretting it, maybe we should totes leave and- “

“No!” Fixer exclaimed. He looked at her blankly, seeing her cheeks heat up. “I mean, you went through all the effort. Might as well, right?”

He grinned, wondering if she bought his fake whine. “I’m only dancing as long as the music goes on.” Standing in front of her, he froze, unsure of how to proceed. “How do we do this?”

“I’m no expert, but swaying is a pretty easy dance move. You wrap your arms down here,” she positioned Deacon’s arms around her waist, “and I put mine like this.” She reached her arms up to sling them around his neck. “Just like that.”

“Now what?”

“We just sway with the music. Or we can get fancy and do some footwork. So if you step to the left,” he did so with one foot, “I’ll step over there too,” which she did, “and we make easy patterns to repeat over and over. Or we can just stand and sway a little.”

The two swayed together, stepping every so often, sometimes on each other’s feet instead of the floor. Deacon seemed earnestly excited in learning some basic moves Fixer knew. She protested it was a simple thing, but he loved it nonetheless. As the song drew near its close, Fixer laid her head on Deacon’s chest, relaxed with the strings’ decrescendo into softening silence.

“This is nice…” She sighed, just under a whisper.

“Yeah.” Deacon agreed, heart pounding. Could she hear it? Feel it? They stood in silence with the song’s end. Deacon caressed her back, sliding his fingers up and down, her skin radiating warmth through her worn-out clothes. Despite Consolation No. 3 beginning, they didn’t sway and enjoyed the hug, feeling each other’s warmth in the fairy lit room. He felt supernatural with her, slightly present, slightly caught up in his own racing thoughts and heartbeat.

“Deacon?” Fixer muttered, heart racing, face hidden in his chest but surely turning beet red.

“What’s up?”

“…” She exhaled slowly before turning her head upwards, locking gaze with the pompadour wig-bearing companion she’d come to know so intimately over the past year of traveling.

Deacon fought back his urge to nervously gulp. They’d never been this close before in this romantic a matter. Sure, there were times on the battlefield that called for it, but the context drastically changed the sparks of their current contact. The way she looked up at him with those caring, dark eyes, god, he wanted to hold her face and kiss her so bad. He wanted to kiss her forehead freckles that had been there since before the war, kiss her left scar reminiscent of her first raider encounter, kiss her all over to learn about her in an entirely new way. Perspiration bothered him as it gathered at the back of his neck, tempted, and nervous.

It was now or never, Fixer encouraged herself. “Can I ask you something?”

“I mean, that’s a loaded question. Can I really deny you the privilege?” He grinned in attempt to mask his nerves. “Ask away.”

“Do you like me, Deacon?”

Without a pause, he instantly answered, “Of course, boss. You’re my best friend.”

“Nothing more?”

He didn’t want to ruin anything and instantly began regretting how over the top this idea was. Clearly, she had to be suspicious, why else would she ask? Letting her in on one of his deepest, darkest, currently active emotional secrets? Of course, he wanted to let her know, evident through having classical music recorded on a holotape just for this moment. But he also didn’t want her to know. Confessing? It would either make things really fucking awkward or pose a danger to their future missions. Love would complicate things.

Or make them happy.

Fixer knew him well enough to sense flashing, deep thoughts brewing behind those relentlessly protective glasses. After all their time of traveling together, they knew each other better than anyone else did. “Honestly,” his voice softened, gruff, akin to their quiet, nightly talks he delicately loved, “I don’t want to answer.”

Oh.

He continued, “It’s just… I think answering would endanger us.”

Her heart skipped a beat. _Oh. Oh!_ “So, then there is something more.”

“I’ve said too much.” Deacon gave her the coyest grin she’d ever seen. “Not saying.”

“For once you’re not going to tell me something? A bit out-of-character for someone who has a lie for every occasion.”

For the first time within the year of traveling together, Deacon took his time answering. He didn’t pause, but his silence lingered on curiously more than a few seconds. He was seriously mulling over his thoughts, suspending Fixer in a desperate state of needing to know what he was going to say. No amount of outward collectedness could fool her with this wait.

High piano plucks of the radio’s _Consolation 3_ painted the silence with dreamlike anticipation, accented by the wavering light of the single bulb masked with transparent purple wrap. This was their haven away from the Wasteland; Fixer couldn’t ask for a more suitable place for them to relax in, but suddenly all the details of the room became overwhelming as she waited for a response. The music, the lighting, embraced in Deacon’s arms – she desperately wanted a concrete answer midst this exceedingly romantic scenery. She somehow missed him more and more with every passing second.

She had no idea how much time had passed before he replied, slowly, and to his knowledge, painfully with vagueness, “This isn’t something I could lie about, even to you, so I’m choosing to withhold information.” Too serious. Way too serious. He thought of a quick save. “Pretty cool, huh? Like I’m in some sort of court case. That’s something that would happen during those, right?”

This man was going to be the end of her. There _was_ something more and god, it was killing her. Together they’d accumulated numerous fairytale memories: so many nights they stargazed, late night watches where they’d talk about nonsense for hours, endless exchanges in information about artifacts from Fixer’s time and historical facts about what happened during Deacon’s life, and now: the slow dancing. It almost felt as if everything had built up to this.

Was she overthinking things?

No, no way.

Upon that confidence, every physical touch flared with sensation. Deacon’s arms still were loosely wrapped around her waist while her arms slung around his neck. He didn’t have the warmest skin, but his sunny personality made up for it.

The first day she exited the vault and got two eye scars from a raider trying to take her life had frightened her about the world’s future. Everything she worked towards before the vault – from bringing justice in various legal cases to cultivating warmth and growth on the swim team – briefly flickered in a newfound anxiety. Hope flickered as she instantly learned the world became a much darker place than before, but the last thing she wanted to do was accept the grim inevitability. She continued to be kind, believed in people, and would fight for herself and others, but at times felt vulnerable in the moments before rest when all her actions decided to haunt her the most. Although relentless and feared by others in combat, taking lives took a toll on her, no matter how many times she had and would continue to do it. Various doubts and anxieties pursued her hungrily, consistently.

But then she met Deacon, who she absolutely did not trust at first. This man who lied, goofed off constantly, and would exclaim ridiculous things about splinters midst firefights had her questioning if she could trust someone capable of such ridiculousness in hard pressing times, but through their travels she realized they were more alike than she’d initially thought. Her composure juxtaposed with his buzzy personality and together found themselves looking for the best in people and wanting to help everyone, including each other. She learned to destress from him, to laugh and joke again, that it was okay to even midst the stressful world raging on around them. It was okay to care for herself in these ways.

During nighttime she learned he, too, had anxieties in his head catching up to him. After his confession that he was her one friend and about his fucked up past, she began seeing an increase in genuine talks under the stars, or roofs, depending how put-together their lodging was for the night. That’s when their bonding deepened. He became so comfortable with her to the point where anytime his voice fell below a whisper her heart would race. She treasured their ventures together and couldn’t imagine them any other way; how could one man make her feel so much? What did she feel like to him?

What was Fixer to him, he thought?

Fuck, he was so goddamn infatuated with her. She went from someone he admired at a distance to someone he got to know. The realization at one point winded him as if in a boxing match. After one of their nightly talks, the admiration turned romantic, beginning to churn his stomach and feeling the most fear he had in a long time. All she had said that fateful night was she happy they had a fire going, telling Deacon about how people used to go around roasting these things called marshmallows over the fire and risk their lives by stuffing as many as they could in their mouth. Something about the glow of the flame and the casual talk won him over and continued to do so every single night.

He was getting attached; this was someone he’d care so deeply about losing. His actual gut hated it, but his heart? His heart fluttered at every turn and corner, every smile and tease. As he learned to grow from his past, to feel less guilty about moving on, he found himself nurturing an emotion he hadn’t felt in years. She was incredibly genuine, and he was so… so skeevy. It wasn’t just her determination in helping the world he fell for, he knew many people like that, but he couldn’t quite vocalize how unique and special every moment was with her. Everything felt novel and, somehow, comfortable.

There was no one he’d rather travel the Commonwealth with than her. He wanted her by his side forever, but that would compromise so many things. He was anxious in losing her and about her losing him. He didn’t even want to think about if for some reason she returned his feelings, what it would be like for her to lose another person she loved. They both knew that pain so well. But hell, he was getting full of himself.

Fixer looked deeply at him, Deacon thankful for his glasses hiding his nervous eyes. She started, “Then can I ask you something else, unrelated?”

“Sure thing, boss.”

She pulled her left hand from around his neck and gently placed it on his cheek. Small bits of stubble tickled her palm while her fingertips fed slightly into the pompadour wig he cared for so much. She pressed her hand down a little more firmly, now able to feel the smooth and rough texture of where his skin met stubble and the subtle wrinkles extending past the corner of his eye. Just one touch taught her so much with its heart throbbing sparks: she wanted to learn so much more.

And so she asked him, “Am I warm?”

“Always.” He leaned his head in, resting his forehead on hers, before softly echoing back to her, “Always.”

“Deacon…”

The holotape reached the end of its track, the absence of music leaving behind a heavy silence. As if it were a rule to speak only in hushes, Deacon softly growled, some words, unlike all the times they had to quietly communicate on missions to maintain their stealth. It wasn’t a whisper or simply talking quiet, instead, the softness of his voice possessed a yearning edge in it. It was delicate, serious, _desiring_. “I’m not answering you, I can’t. I don’t think I could do that to you. Forget me, but you? You’ve lost a lot already, I can’t imagine if during a mission or something I got kill-“

She didn’t want to hear it. Enough was enough. Fixer tiptoed and brushed her lips against his, fitting near perfect with his semi-parted mouth. Taken aback for but for a second, his entirety melted into hers. His lips softened into hers, familiar, as if they’d rehearsed this moment hundreds of times before, and now was the recital; slightly awkward, nervous for their first performance, but warmed right up to it. His arms tightened around her waist, pulling her in and his body overall leaned into hers, yearning to be as close as they possibly could. They created an astounding warmth, blanketing and taking them away from the Wasteland’s chilly night.

All Fixer could hear were their heavy breaths through their noses, neither of them interested in breaking the moment. Neither wanted this long yearned-for moment to end. Rehearsing being in each other’s arms was no longer restricted to their imaginations: it was finally a reality. Their breaths grew heavier as the kiss grew longer, both putting their need for air below their desire for touch.

Fixer was the first to pull slightly away. Her face felt hot and upon barely opening her eyes could see Deacon’s crimson cheeks. No amount of sunglasses could hide that glow.

She smiled, his forehead returning to rest on hers, his mouth slightly ajar with audible breaths. “Hi.”

He put a hand over Fixer’s that was still cupping his face, returning her smile. “Hey.”

“So… you come here often?”

“Not often enough.” He kissed her softly again. “What’re you hours?”

“Twenty-four seven, but just for you.”

“Not gonna lie. That sounds like a pretty horrible business model.”

Fixer shook her head, “Oh boo, what do you know.”

“A whole lot more now, like I have a feeling _someone_ may have a secret crush on me.”

“You got that one wrong.”

Deacon comically whined, “Aw, what?”

“Believe me, it’s much more than a crush.” Fixer softly kissed him again.

“You could say that may have been what I didn’t want to tell you earlier, but…” He slipped his hand back around her waist and looked down into her eyes behind his sunglasses. Even though they were this close, Fixer couldn’t see through them. “Are you sure you want to act on this? I’m not so much concerned about Dez getting on my, well, _our_ asses about this, but is this a safe choice?”

“Walking around the Wasteland isn’t a safe choice, let alone anytime we end up fighting out there. I know this could endanger things, but we were careful before and we can continue to be careful. Deacon,” her voice cracked with nerves, “I want you.”

He moved his lips to her ear and muttered with a hot breath, “I want you too, Rina.”

His cooing made her whole body scorch. Her face burned, heart beat faster, and hands were growing clammier by the second. “So... we’re a thing?” She buried her face in the nape of his neck, hands clenching for their life at the back of his shirt. “Too mushy?”

He shortly laughed and his arms tightened around her as much as they could, wishing his body could mold into hers. “This – this is okay, more than okay.”

They stood for about a minute until Deacon stood back and tilted Fixer’s chin up. She still couldn’t see anything beyond his sunglasses, only enticing her more to learn about her companion she’d traveled with for so long.

He kissed her once. Then twice. And they kissed again, and again, and again, each kiss gaining desperate momentum. Their hands strained to grasp at various parts of each other’s outfits, Fixer at times digging her nails into his skin and tugging so hard at his flannel it almost ripped. Deacon continuously kissed her, at one point pulling her hair back to expose her neck for him to nip and suck. His soft lips bit and warmed the nape of her neck, Fixer moaning, and he walked them forward until pushing her onto a bed adjacent to the wall.

He crawled over her, showering her with soft kisses from the base of her neck back to her lips.

A pause. They stared at each other for what felt to be days.

“You don’t know how long I’ve wanted this,” Deacon smiled, hovering his head dangerously close to hers.

“Feeling’s mutual.”

“You know, you’re the only person that’s ever made me nervous.” He stroked her cheek. “If I was there back then in those school days, you’d be that girl I’d be too nervous to ask to dance.”

“Oh, really? The gregarious Deacon?”

“Yeah.” He gently kissed her forehead. “Even now, like, how long have we known each other? More than a year, right? And it took me that long to even hint to you about things? No way would a dumb teenage Deacon know better.”

“You could say we had a lot on the line, like our lives, you know.”

“There’s still so much more I want to learn about you, Rina.” He brushed his mouth against her ear, breath tickling her skin, “I love you.”

“I love you, Deacon.”

He smiled, hiding his ear-to-ear grin face in her neck. “So…” A stray hand of his fumbled with a lock of her hair. “Do you want to keep falling down the rabbit hole, or shall I more clearly put it, the bed hole, tonight?”

Fixer snorted. “Dear god, that’s how you’re phrasing it?”

“We could change our team name from Death Bunnies to Fuc-“

“No no no, that’s okay. But are you going to keep your glasses on?”

“What? A cool and mysterious man doesn’t get you hot and heavy? Or is this a saucy strip thing you’re into?”

“You’re ridiculous,” she kissed his cheek before he kneeled up, calves straddling her. He tossed his glasses onto the floor and pulled off his flannel and signature white shirt, staring at her intently wasting no time whatsoever. Under the gleaming purple light accenting his lean muscles, his eyes loved her all on their own as he leaned back down. Her hands instinctively clawed his back, learning every nook and muscle as his body moved closer to her, moved to kiss her all over.

“Rawr, that’s enticing, right?”

She nibbled and sucked on his earlobe, making him moan and rhythmically rub his crotch harder into hers. She licked a pair of her fingers, wetting them before rubbing one of his soft nipples. The harder it got, the harder he buried his pulsating bulge into hers.

“Anything for you, boss.”

“In that case…” She quickly grappled his arm and flipped him onto his back, now straddling him. She couldn’t stop staring at those eyes, bare, intimate, and softening, wanting to close with every continuing dry hump. Slowly, she began unbuttoning her flannel and with each advancement could feel slight nudges from the boner pushing up against her crotch.

“I could go slower…” She trailed off.

“Please don’t.”

“Mmm, please. I like that.” She fully unbuttoned her flannel and threw it over Deacon’s pile of clothes, topping it off with her undershirt and bra.

Rhythmically moving her hips only prompted moans and a growing bulge in his pants. Waiting became too much as a flustered Deacon reached between her legs to remove his pants and underwear and, consequently, hers as well. His length sprung up, Fixer subtly grinding her pulsating clit against it, both bodies pounding with desire. Impatient, Deacon sat up and ran his hands up and down her back like a stream, pressing her towards him to further kiss and suck her nipple. Every tongue flick earned a higher pitched moan louder with every successful contact, getting her wetter and him, harder. Her nails dug into his neck, groaning his name every kiss he landed on her. God, it was love.

He slowly ran a hand from her belly to her crotch below, fingertips gently feeling lips’ soft inside. As he looked her in the eyes, she felt herself getting wet with every passing second and every sensual fingering exploring her slit. Those eyes could make her do anything and made her want everything. Suddenly she felt his fingers inside of her, tips making way before thrusting and threading in and out of her throbbing warmth. Everything was a blur, physical sensations the only thing keeping her grounded as her body reached temperatures she only wanted Deacon to make hotter. Wetness relentlessly brimmed her entrance as Deacon fit another finger inside. Hearing her feel so good pleased him so, but he craved to be inside her.

She pushed him down with her body, feeling their perspiring skins meet and touch and heat up with every gasp and kiss they indulged in.

She panted, “I want you Deacon.”  

“I want you too.”

“Light on, or off?”

“On. I always want to see you.”

Thumbing her clit sounded a melody of moans ranging from low to high, the intimate sounds filling his body with desire, penis throbbing for her. As if on cue, she felt for Deacon’s member and looked at him shortly. His eyes burned into her, her body craving to see them flutter as she eased his length inside her, leisurely rocking her hips back and forth. She was so warm around him; his eyes fluttered like she wanted as the pounding in his chest continued harder and stronger. His hands trembled when reaching for her hips, the two moaning with every pleasurable thrust and sway. The night felt as if it went on for as long as their love did, heavy breaths only growing faster and faster until Deacon urged her to lean forward over him, kissing her briefly, her legs straddling him as he thrust himself in and out. As Fixer let out a string of high pitches Deacon didn’t think was possible, she came on him as he felt himself let go and climax into her.

Fixer stayed atop Deacon until her breathing slowed then after removing himself from her, collapsed next to him. They laid on their sides, facing each other, Deacon’s arms instinctively loosely wrapping around her.

“Wow.” Deacon said in between drawn-out breaths.

“Yeah,” Fixer smiled, trying to slow her breath to speak clearly. “Wow."

“So _that’s_ what prom’s like.”

“Oh my god,” Fixer laughed and playfully went to shove his chest but fell tired halfway through, opting to lazily dangling her arm over him instead.

“And we’re still matching, in a way. Birthday suits.” He gave a half-hearted woo, exhausted.

“I don’t even know what to say to that.” Her grin ceased to end and looked around the room, dazingly admiring the violet lighting making the walls speckled texture look almost celestial. “Hey Deacon?”

“Yeah?” His eyes, actual, non-hidden eyes, gazed into her, lovingly and slightly lax. Her heart somehow managed skip a beat after everything.

“Thanks.”

“For what? The best night of your life?”

“I’m withholding my answer on that,” she stuck her tongue out.

“Aw, you gotta tell me.” His fingers combed through the side of her hair, pulling back any loose strands to give him the clearest, closest view of her face illuminated by the violet lights.

“Thanks for somehow ending up here with me.”

He softly kissed her freckled forehead. “Nah, thank you.”

“Permission to say one last cheesy thing?”

“Permission granted.”

“There are some days I feel like I’m just going to go home, that I’ll wake up in my house, get breakfast, go to work and see everyone I used to know, but that all disappeared in what felt like minutes. But lately after all this time?” She paused, then beamed. “For the longest time, I’m happy I’ve been able to wake up next to you every morning.”

“Same goes to you. I hope I can provide enough for you.” He pulled her close. “I really do.”

“You already have and do. Will you continue waking up with me?”

“Until death, Rina.”

The two closed their eyes and, for the first time in a little over a year, slept soundly through the night. 

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much for reading! If you enjoyed it please leave kudos/comment. Long live everyone's favorite egg.


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